


white as snow, red as blood

by fannyatrollop



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: And Crown Princess Violet, F/F, Snow White but with a coven of witches, So yes there are witches!, The worst mother I have written up until now, fairytale AU, katya is giving us sloppy old timey butch energy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-14 20:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16048229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannyatrollop/pseuds/fannyatrollop
Summary: The queen knew she wasn’t strong enough to break the mirror, so she didn’t try. What was once suspicion quickly turned to hatred. She let that simmer until she thought she saw the first trace of a wrinkle on her fair face.At that point, she knew that her daughter had to die.A Vatya retelling of Snow White.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i love fairytales, and i miss working on one. posting it so early may have been ill advised, but here she is!
> 
>  **content warning** for an animal meeting a ghastly fate.

Deep in the woods sits a small cottage with a moss-covered roof, which grows little pink flowers all over, regardless of the season, as if that’s a common feature of rooftops everywhere. It is known, though, that Nature will bend her own rules to signal the presence of a witch; She preens and shows Her beauty to its greatest advantage where a good witch has made her home, but where a bad witch roams, there will only be death and decay. This cottage was built (or rather, _charmed_ , the interior is a bit larger than it seems from the outside) to house about seven witches, though they’re usually not all in at the same time. All seven have pledged their gifts to goodness, or at least vowed to keep away from mischief; such peaceful conduct is rewarded with flowers and blessings.

Ginger often grumbles about what a damn pigsty it is inside, and that if Mother Nature really loved them that much, She could at least reach in and put all their flasks in order at the end of the day. She likes it when they’re arranged in such a way that she can reach for a flask and trust that it contains what she needs without having to read the label. The most popular tonics are very time sensitive, it helps not to have to root through chaos while the cauldron boils.

Katya doesn’t mind the mess, really, which is to be expected since she is usually the cause of it. She can remember where everything is as long as she puts it there herself, and trouble only arises when people move things. Ginger has to sternly remind Katya that while she may be deeper into medicinal magic than Ginger is, they use many of the same ingredients and didn’t have the foresight to generate two laboratories when they first arranged the rooms in the cottage.

“What if we generate another lab now?” Katya asks, throwing her arms up in exasperation. It is the 15th time they’ve argued about this in the past month.

“Because we’ve almost used up all the extra space we have before the magic stretches out too far,” Ginger hollers. “Then the whole cottage will collapse. I’ve explained this!”

“Can’t we rebuild if it collapses?”

“You can do that yourself,” Ginger snaps.

“Shhh,” Katya shushes, even though she’s no quieter than Ginger is. “We might wake Jinkx.”

Although they regularly fight about their organizational habits, Ginger and Katya are very good friends. A half-day’s silence is enough to have them peacefully sharing jokes and a late night snack before bed. Katya never fails to place the tonics and potions she’s made for the next day’s delivery in the basket Ginger carefully labelled for that purpose, can usually be counted on for cheerful conversation, and would really be a perfect labmate if she would learn to organize the ingredients in a way that can make sense to someone who doesn’t live inside her brain. Life would be truly peaceful for the both of them if Katya remembered that because the two of them are the most active members of the household, they should do their part to keep things in order for everyone else, though Ginger has threatened to stop wiping the trails of earth Valentina tends to leave in her wake too many times to count.

There are seven little tea lights floating in seven little bowls on their mantle, which they can use to keep track of each other and their various housemates. As Katya seldom leaves home, her light normally burns green. Ginger is in charge of deliveries to the village, so hers will burn blue to show that she is away and in no immediate danger when she steps out. (Danger is always red.) Most of the lights are often blue, save for Max’s, which turned black when she stopped eating from the trays they left outside her bedroom door. She’s advanced far enough in her study of necromancy to have transcended the need for sustenance. The day she dies, her candle will go out completely, at which point it will be in their best interests to find another young witch to take her place. Witches cluster in groups of three or seven; it’s good for the balance of magic in a household, or something. This has been said for centuries, and there isn’t a witch who can’t be convinced by things that have been said for such a long time.

Before Max started spending most of her time confined to her room, Katya didn’t know what it was to truly be on her own for very long periods of time. She has found that it isn’t all that bad, and if she really dislikes the silence in the cottage she can make friends with some woodland critters, or talk to herself. It’s nice to hear someone’s voice, even if it’s her own.

She rises with the sun, a little before Ginger does, and spends some time stretching her sore limbs outside. Whatever she’s been doing to herself in her sleep needs to stop, she is frankly tired of waking up with aches and pains. The stretching is nice for its own sake, though. She sees Ginger off every morning, and is there to greet and bid farewell to anyone who comes or goes. She likes to dedicate a portion of her day to wasting time, and finds that the best time to do this is when nobody’s home. She likes company when she works.

Katya goes down to the village with Ginger twice a month, to add some spice to her days and maybe personally administer a healing spell. She used to go more often. She didn’t choose a more retired life out of hatred for mingling with the common folk, and was well-liked, but bottling her spells has led her to a more peaceful lifestyle. She feels like she can understand Jinkx better when she thinks of how tired she gets after a day talking to people about their ailments, and doing her best to help them. Jinkx is clairvoyant, her gift alone drains her energy so that she will usually be in town reading fortunes until she is too tired to continue, at which point she returns home and sleeps for weeks. Katya’s situation is different, but the ease with which she handles people hides how much energy she expends in the process. Sometimes, peace can drive her to a deeper level of insanity than she already claims to inhabit, but she feels lighter throughout her days.

Katya looks forward to Trixie being home more than any of the others, though she swears she has love in her heart for all of her housemates. Trixie complains that she struggles to compete with the only other witch specializing in musical magic in their immediate area. She says it’s _unfair_ that she is not part siren, and cannot make her voice as compelling as nature allows her competitor to do. Her tenacity drives her to travel farther with her instruments, as it’s in a performer’s nature to seek out ways to share her gifts with a wide range of people. Katya likes her dark sense of humour, contrasted with the brightness of her appearance, and the way she knows to send a melody to follow her around when she’s feeling blue. She wishes her gifts complemented Trixie’s better, so that she could enjoy her company more often. She can’t begrudge Shangela her luck at being Trixie’s most natural travel companion, though. An illusionist and a musician make a whole lot of _sense_ as a team, more than a musician and a medic. When they’re together, though, Katya wonders if she will ever find the kind of closeness she feels to Trixie in another being.

When Katya was younger, she never expected to stay put for so long. She used to think she had a wandering soul, yet she never did much wandering in the end. She soothes herself with a reminder of how loose the threads tying her to her little corner of the woods actually are. If she wants to, she can walk the earth until the soles of her feet wear down, and she will always have a home to return to. For all she knows, she’ll be on her way to a million faraway destinations after her midday nap. Maybe she’ll see if Trixie and Shangela will let her take a holiday with them. She can dust off the tambourine she bought on impulse the last time she went to market.

She usually ends up in her lab, bottling spells to combat the most common seasonal ailments, and fulfilling the orders Ginger brings to her when she’s back.

***

In retrospect, the queen realizes she should have taken care to use exact words when she wished for a beautiful daughter. Well, she had actually wished for a beautiful _child_ , to be made in her image, with raven hair and snow white skin. She did not specify that it had to be a daughter, and as a queen it was best to beget a son, so she did hope that she would be blessed with one if the Gods followed that logic. When Violet was born, she had not considered the implications of having a daughter who might one day surpass her in beauty, and while she did not know it at the time, this would prove to be a crucial mistake.

She did love the child at first, delighted in how similar they were in appearance, and was certain that they would be great friends. Pregnancy had not agreed with her, and she carried on with the assurance that though a prince would have made the kingdom happiest, a princess would have to do if that is what they were given.

Her little Violet was her pride; every day she grew into her beauty she felt like her own mother must have felt watching _her_ grow. Violet had been born with a natural grace that never ceased to impress anyone who met her. She was noted for her intellect, and the fire with which she undertook every task presented before her. What she lacked in warmth, she made up for in self-assurance. From childhood, she carried herself as every bit the princess she was, and there was no doubt that she would one day become a great ruler. While Violet was still a child, the queen never thought about what the future would bring her. Violet was the perfect little girl in her eyes, an extension of her own perfect self, and there was nothing the queen loved more than her own reflection.

The queen started to see her daughter as a separate being on the evening of her coming of age ball, on Violet’s sixteenth birthday. In the blink of an eye, her sweet little copy had become a beautiful young woman. She still resembled her then, but the queen had never before noticed that Violet has her father’s dark, imperious eyes.

Noticing those eyes made Violet’s face less lovely in the queen’s mind. She herself has deceptively soft features, which give her the appearance of a porcelain doll. Violet was shaping up to have a harder, but admittedly striking countenance.

The queen had not yet begun to see her daughter as a threat, but she did start to separate the two of them in her mind, and it can be said that this is where Violet’s troubles began. Every time Violet’s refined manners were praised, every time her inelegant laugh was professed to be charming, every time her pretty figure, or her excellent taste in gowns were singled out as the coming of a new age in beauty and style, the queen grew more envious.

It all came to a head on Violet’s eighteenth birthday.

Weary of the festivities, the queen decided to take the air in the gardens. There, she overheard a most distressing conversation.

“Isn’t the princess looking lovelier by the day? Why, she’s almost as lovely as her mother when she arrived. Do you remember how everyone had said, back then, that the queen was so beautiful she must have been an angel come from Heaven?”

“Oh, but of course! There was no woman in the world who could rival our new queen in beauty. It’s only fitting that her competition is her own daughter.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say she’s competition, our queen has not diminished in beauty.”

“That may be so, but the more our princess grows into her looks, the more I start to think that by the time she takes the throne _she_ will be the most beautiful in the land. The queen can’t stay as she is forever, we are all ravaged by time in the end.”

“Just so…”

Not wishing to hear herself compared to her daughter any longer, the queen rushed back to her apartments.

She had covered the great mirror with the gold frame in a sheet when its constant assertions of her beauty started to bore her. It had been a parting gift from her godmother, and had mostly taken up space in a forgotten corner of her rooms. The queen liked being told she was the fairest in the land, but she didn’t _need_ to hear it every day. That night, though, she felt like she ought to take comfort in it.

“Hello, old friend,” she said, uncovering the mirror for the first time in over a decade.

Her breath hitched. Something about knowing the mirror was entirely impartial, that it was looking at her as much as she was at herself, perhaps even more, made her feel small all of a sudden. She remembered when her godmother had first shown it to her, when it hung in its own room in her house.

“Be careful with it,” she’d said. “It can see into your heart.”

The mirror had never been the chatty type. No matter what she said to it first, it would only utter the answer to a question. Its silence made it more imposing. It was already sizing her up. She remembered that she’d covered it so that it wouldn’t look at her when she wasn’t seeking its opinion.

“Tell me, mirror,” said the queen, regaining her sense of authority. “Who is the fairest in the land?”

Nothing suggested that it had heard her, and it remained silent for a moment. This was normal. Then, a voice responded, loud and clear, but almost as if it was coming from her own mind.

“It is you, but only for a little longer,” it said.

The queen’s blood boiled.

“And who would dare overtake me?” she cried.

Again, it seemed to be thinking.

“Your daughter, the princess.”

She knew she wasn’t strong enough to break it, so she didn’t try. What was once suspicion quickly turned to hatred. She let that simmer until she thought she saw the first trace of a wrinkle on her fair face.

At that point, she knew that her daughter had to die.

***

Violet never noticed any of this as it happened. She had been distancing herself from her mother in favour of spending more time around her father, and taking an interest in his daily activities. While her mother was busy treating her like a little doll, her education had been based around training her to consider her destiny as a future ruling queen.

The responsibility has never frightened her, but she doesn’t want to be the kind of ruler no one will remember. It is her ambition to be truly great. In order to be great, she needed to learn her trade, and though she enjoyed the affection her mother showered on her as a child, the queen has never taught her anything of substance.

Violet has always been comfortable with her looks and about as vain as any young girl can be. She’s also aware that she’s expected to cultivate more than her beauty in order to fulfill the expectations she was born into. Her goal is to exceed these expectations, so she can’t be too narrow in her focus.

When her father asks if she would like to take a ride in the woods, just the two of them, she readily agrees. She feels like she doesn’t require validation to hold herself up, but she likes to have her father’s attention, and to know that he will be at ease when he leaves the kingdom in her hands.

Her father brought a bag full of food, which has led Violet to believe that he intends to speak to her over a shared lunch. The usually jovial king, though, sits stiffly on his horse and appears ill at ease as they ride. Violet wonders if it’s acceptable to ask him about his troubles, or if she should wait for him to be ready. Her father is a cheerful man, but being suspected of any weakness can drive him into a rage, and Violet doesn’t want to be in a position of calming that kind of storm on this day.

They ride together in silence until they reach a spot that is suitable for rest. Violet secures her horse against a tree. She knows her mare will more than likely stay put, but she can sometimes startle easily. Violet can deal with this while riding, but if she’s frightened enough to bolt when Violet is not paying attention she will find herself in a fix. Her father hands her their lunch, and she turns to choose the nicest place to sit.

That’s when she hears the most horrifying sound. When she turns back to her father and their horses, her carefully studied composure is all that prevents her from dropping the bundle that contains their food.

In the time it took for her to turn around and walk but a few steps, her father had drawn his sword, and now her horse’s head lay on the ground. Her father’s stallion is in hysterics, while the blood of her mare dyes the grass red around where she was slain.

“When you are queen,” her father says, his voice breaking. “You will see worse sights than this.”

“Why have you done this?” Violet asks, her tone even. She holds her screams, of pain and rage at the senselessness of her father’s actions, for when she has the chance to be alone. She wouldn’t want to be deemed unfit just because she _feels_ , as would be the case if she gave in. “What did my horse do to deserve the death penalty?”

“If I didn’t kill her, I would have had to kill you.”

All of Violet’s strength is diverted to the task of keeping her on her feet.

“Papa,” she breathes. “Is this a joke? Or is it a test?”

Her father looks at her. She can’t tell if it’s with sorrow, from the distance that he bids her not to cross.

“My wife, whom I love more than life itself, has asked me to do away with my daughter, whom I love as much as I need,” he says. Violet’s heart catches in her throat.

“Rather than present her with your heart, I will give her the horse’s,” he continues. “I ask that you treat this as a test. Whatever sin you committed against your mother, the kingdom will need you when I am gone. You are my one and only heir.”

Violet nods as she holds back involuntary tears.

“Violet, if you survive this trial,” he says, and she can finally hear the sorrow in his voice. “You will be the most worthy of queens.”

His last request is that she walk away, until he no longer has to look at her. She quietly acquiesces.

Soon, she is alone, with nothing but her strength to carry her. Fortunately, her strength has never once failed her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teeny tiny baby chapter for your nerves. i’m building a bridge out of silliness.

Katya had given up trying to sleep until the first true burst of sunlight, so she fixes herself a cup of tea and decides to sit by the window until it starts to get light. Trixie brought this tea back for her once, earnestly telling her it was very good for her according to the witch who sold it. Katya has dutifully choked it down since, because it’s a rare little thing from a faraway land that her friend has given her. It’s disgusting, but it actually does help her wake up.

She doesn’t know if she’s obtaining any real health benefits from drinking it regularly, though, and hasn’t bothered to check. If she dies, she dies. Max says there’s no helping it when the time comes. Katya’s not exactly looking forward to death, but as she grimaces over the taste of her beverage, she wishes her time to get up had waited until sunrise. The arrival of the sun, long awaited indeed, works in tandem with the tea to help her come to terms with starting off her day.

As Katya becomes more alert, she begins to notice a figure slowly emerging from the woods. She sets her cup down, moves closer to the window so she can focus in on it. It’s not likely to be threatening, Valentina says she installed failsafes to protect against any intruder who would harm their coven. What Katya worries about is the slow, wobbly quality to the figure’s progress. A friend would be approaching more confidently. Whoever it is might be a person in need, and Katya would break the most important promise she’s made in her life if she did not help them.

They don’t make it to the cottage before they stop, sinking down into the ground. Katya springs into action.

***

Violet won’t think of it as having lost everything in an instant. Her father said he spared her life precisely because her life’s purpose hasn’t changed. A nagging thought keeps whispering that she’d been left to die. She silences it with her determination to believe that she’d been left to survive.

At some point, she wasn’t thinking about much anymore. Her feet carried her forward, without stopping to eat or dwell on what happened to her, and her mind simply went along for the ride. She hadn’t known where she was headed when she set off, only that she needed to get out of her father’s sight first if she wanted to live, and the further she walked the less she knew. The woods were endless, and the darker it got the more she felt like she was walking into a void. A void would do, though, if her goal was to be out of sight.

She remembers stopping for a second, surprised at having found herself in a clearing. Stopping must have reminded her body that she had pushed it to exhaustion.

When she wakes up, Violet almost believes that every horrible thing she’s been through could have been a dream. She’s in a warm, comfortable bed, and if she strains she thinks she can hear the exact songbird that’s set up shop outside her bedroom window. She has to try very hard to catch the sound, but she keeps her eyes closed so she can do it more easily. When she hears the door open and close, she opens her eyes to see if she can share her dream with the person who’s just entered.

Instead, she gets a mass of confusion. She quickly realized that she is definitely _not_ in her bedroom. For one, there are strange trinkets everywhere, some settled down on the floor as if the owner couldn’t find a better surface to place them. Animals rendered by artists with varying skill levels, syrupy pastoral tableaus, one horrifying sculpture that is essentially a mass of limbs and screaming mouths, all of these and more are lovingly displayed wherever a spot for them could be found. In time, Violet will be eager to examine every last one of these objects, finding them rather pleasing in their strangeness. She actually does have a collection of baubles, too, except it’s in a glass cabinet in her sitting room, and she’s only managed to acquire an array of delicate figurines. As far as first impressions go, however, they do nothing to soothe her increasing unease.

The woman she’s just been joined by is yet another peculiar sight for her sore eyes to process. Violet has developed a tendency to pay close attention to clothing, as it can reveal a lot about the wearer in court. This woman has chosen to appear before her in breeches and a man’s undershirt, the kind of attire Violet would expect on her future husband first thing in the morning, perhaps. No unknown _man_ would dare attend a private audience with her in that state.

Much like the strange trinkets surrounding her, this is something she can become accustomed to in time. And yet, as non-threatening as the smile on the woman’s face is, the sight of her is too jarring for her to bear in that moment.

All of these new and unusual sights conspire with fresh memories of blood and banishment. Violet feels herself growing hysterical.

“You—You’re not dressed.”

The words come out softly, in contrast to the anguished sobs that follow them.

***

“Well, Katya, I know this may sound awfully like nagging, but I can’t help myself, so I’ll just get on with it,” says Valentina, mixing honey into her tea. “I believe _this_ is why I bought you a waistcoat.”

The tea is Valentina’s own homemade blend. When Katya really can’t stomach Trixie’s gift she dips into her supply, a practice Valentina tacitly allows by never commenting on it. When Valentina returned from one of her landscaping jobs, just in time to say goodbye to Ginger and promise to help Katya with the pretty girl from the woods, she even offered to fix a cup for her. It probably feeds her pride to know the people around her like her tea enough to drink it while she’s away, and the thought of that cheerfully encourages Katya to help herself whenever she wants.

All Katya had wanted was to check on her fair guest, to see if she should bring her a cup as well. She’d put her up in her bedroom after making sure the girl was not in need of more involved treatment. Her tests determined that she had simply collapsed from exhaustion, so she’d let her be, and taken care to enter the room as quietly as possible. She didn’t _know_ her everyday attire would cause her pain.

Valentina stares at her with a placid grin, one recognized by those who know her well for being far from indicative of her true feelings.

“The riding coat you’ve hung up on the clothesline is hers, right?”

Katya nods.

Valentina sighs.

“I guess it’s been too long since you’ve been away from home,” she says. “You wouldn’t realize how fine her clothes are. They may be a little worse for wear, since she’s been lost in the woods, but she’d have to be a wealthy merchant’s daughter at least.”

“Wow, I should have known she was a _princess_.”

There _had_ been something imperious about her tone, when she’d stopped crying long enough to ask Katya to leave.

“Now, don’t get stroppy, I acknowledged it would be a tough distinction for you to make,” says Valentina, stopping for a sip of her tea. “She’ll be fine. Probably just in shock. Still, maybe put on the waistcoat.”

Katya huffs. She doesn’t want to hear another word about that damn waistcoat, opts instead to fetch one of the billowing robes she’s left lying about the lab. She’s not trying to dress like a gentleman, she simply likes the way breeches set off her legs and…

Well, maybe she has gotten a bit too comfortable, sitting around at home all the time. Valentina has been on her case about dressing better for ages. She’s quite sick of it, otherwise she might actually consider listening to her. Just because _Valentina_ is a modern fashion plate doesn’t mean the rest of them need to follow her lead. One of the perks of being a witch is that you can present yourself however you like and people will explain your oddities away as witchy quirks.

She’s not frustrated by her guest’s conduct, really. What Valentina said about her state of mind is likely correct. There’s no telling what she might have encountered in the woods, or how she came to lose her way. Magic loves making a home in the wilderness, and the woods do not discriminate between light or dark the way humans do. A tree will not refuse to make its vows with the dark the way Katya did. There is likely to be something in there that this girl desperately wanted to escape. Even if she did not come from wealth, it’s not uncommon for even the simplest village girl to fear the woods.

Katya knocks on the door, so as not to surprise the girl. When she hears permission to enter, she slowly pushes the door open and creeps inside, approaching the girl’s huddled figure carefully.

“Hello,” she says. “I’ve gotten dressed for you.”

The girl rubs at her eyes as Katya gestures dramatically to better show off her robes.

“Thank you,” she says, meeting Katya’s eyes with an unflinching gaze.

She pauses, casting her gaze downward for a moment.

“I apologize for my conduct earlier. I ought to have shown more gratitude. It was… unbecoming.”

Katya shrugs.

“No harm done.”

She confirms that the girl is fine with her continued presence. Now that she’s awake, Katya thinks it’s best to quickly check on her state of health. The girl patiently endures as Katya neglects to provide any answers and sets to scanning the room for her kit. She has far too much clutter, all of it of exceptional sentimental value, so it can be difficult to find things without getting distracted by the many objects clamouring for her attention.

When she finds the little box containing her diagnostic tools, Katya finally remembers basic manners.

“I can’t believe it slipped my mind to tell you where you are,” she explains, very disappointed in herself.

The girl seems to find this amusing, and fixes her attention on Katya expectantly. She makes an elegant gesture, signalling to Katya that she is welcome to provide her with answers immediately.

Katya regards her, noticing how her demeanour has changed in mere minutes. The girl sits up straighter, and has developed an air of someone who commands any space she happens to be in with only her presence. Her expression is serene, with only the ghost of her earlier hysteria apparent in her features.

All of a sudden, there’s a lump in her throat.

“My name is Katya,” she chokes out. “You’re in a witch’s cottage. But don’t worry, we’re nice! It’s no fun messing with someone when there’s no chase, and you practically fell into my care.”

She grins nervously, hoping the joke lands. If she offends a higher power they’ll simply strike her down with fire and fury. She’s more scared of offending the girl in front of her.

Instead, the girl laughs, big and booming.

“Sure! There’s been stranger things under the sun!”

Her name is Violet, and she says she’s from the palace. She says nothing more about her origins, only that she needs to find a place to stay for some time. She’s afraid she might need years, that hoping for less time in exile would be cruel of her. Without thinking, Katya tells her she can stay as long as she needs to.

Later on in the evening, when everyone’s fed, she settles into the lab so she can tend to the work she’d neglected that day. Ginger and Valentina kindly keep her company, though Valentina does use the time to work on some sketches for a potential project.

“Who lives in the palace?” asks Katya, putting a cork on a salve. She’s been bottling a whole cauldronful of it for so long her arms are getting tired. “I mean, other than the royal family?”

“Hmm,” Ginger says, always eager to provide information. “The palace staff, of course.”

Katya shakes her head, and her arms too while she’s at it.

“Valentina says Violet’s clothes are too fine to belong to a servant. But she says she’s from the palace.”

Valentina whips her head around at the sound of her name.

“Well,” she supplies. “That’s assuming she didn’t steal them.”

Deep in her gut, Katya can’t imagine that being the case. She has no evidence one way or the other, but in the short time she’s spent with Violet she’s gotten the feeling that she’s not the type to steal. Logic may not be in her corner, yet she objects to such an unkind assumption.

“And I suppose there are ladies from good families attending to the princess,” adds Valentina. “Being a lady-in-waiting is a fine position for a young girl. I wonder what sort of scandal brought her to us, though, not that it’s any of my business. Hope it’s nothing too severe.”

“I sure would like to know if we’re harbouring a criminal,” Ginger says, cursing a little as she rearranges the bottles on the rack for the third time that day. She shouldn’t bother, Katya still has to create a spell for preventing chills before she’s truly finished for the day.

“It doesn’t matter either way. As long as she was in need, Katya only did her duty by bringing her in. And if she needs to hide, well, that still counts as a need that we’re fulfilling. Surely the Powers That Be would take Katya’s excessively kind nature into consideration if there are any problems. She wouldn’t turn a rogue wolf away if it needed care.”

Katya sends Ginger a grateful look. Her brand of caring may be thorny, but her heart is good.

However mysterious her past is, Violet might help ease her loneliness. Katya hopes they will be friends.

***

The queen does not appreciate being taken for a fool. Still, she can’t fault her husband for his nature.

Something hadn’t felt right about his behaviour when he returned from slaying their daughter. As the days passed, her suspicions grew, so she asked the mirror to make sure that Violet was dead. Sure, she had her rage over the king’s incompetence, but after some thought and a long bath she realized where she’d gone wrong.

Marrying a king is an excellent choice for women who want to be exalted above their peers. But it comes with a small caveat; if her needs conflict with the needs of the kingdom, of _course_ her husband would make a bungle out of fulfilling them.

The queen hoped she’d never have to resort to this, but when needs must, one has no choice but to endure unpleasant situations.

The king can’t be without an heir, but the queen can’t stomach living with a rival. Fortunately, there’s a way for both of them to get what they need.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crawling along with some lore and domesticity!

Magic is a living thing, and like many creatures on earth its chief aspiration is to reproduce. Witches have historically been unreliable when it comes to multiplying in large enough numbers to ensure that it is used to its satisfaction. In order to prevent itself from languishing unused after death, a witch’s magic joins the endless stream of power coursing through the world and spins songs for willing hosts to hear. Most witches are regular human beings imbued with power after answering the call of this wild magic. All witches are linked to their collective history in this way, even if they don’t have blood ties to their own kind.

Each individual thread of wild magic is a single witch’s history, shaped by her nature and her deeds. When Ginger was small, perched on her Auntie Elder’s lap, she was told that when she died her magic would mingle with the magic of other like-minded witches.

“Like a coven in the sky?” she’d ask.

Auntie Elder would gently tap the tip of her nose with her thumb.

“Just like that,” she’d respond.

Years later, Ginger would gather her friends around and pass the story on to them, as the elders she grew up among did for her with all their witch’s lore. Having been reared in the light, Ginger saw it as her duty to share her knowledge with other light-inclined witches who didn’t meet another one of their kind until much later in life.

Magic shares its own secrets with its host, and every witch who accepts it also accepts its values, but it’s a different experience to hear a story from a sister. It strengthens the coven’s bond in life, and light witches simply like the thought that their connection will exist in some form after they are gone from the world. It can be a comfort to know that their magic will join together, to sing the Song of Light so that potential new witches can respond and carry their power into a new generation.

Much like there’s a Song of Light, there exists a Song of Darkness, woven by the magic of witches who dedicated their lives to evil. Its siren songs finds sympathy in those looking to meet their wicked ends, no matter the means or the price.

The queen heard a whisper in the wind, beckoning and sweet, on the day she made up her mind to kill her daughter. It was so faint that she paid it no mind for the most part. Sometimes, she liked to close her eyes and focus in on it, but she was not quite ready to dance along until she came to know that her wishes had not been granted.

The more she indulges herself by attending to the song, the louder its call becomes. By the time she’s at the point of formulating a new plan for eliminating her enemy, the Song of Darkness wakes her in the mornings and lulls her back to sleep at night.

It is no wonder, then, that she soon accepts its gifts.

***

If a stranger were to witness the way she welcomes her to their little household, they would never suspect that Valentina had spent the previous evening speculating on how disreputable Violet’s character might be.

Never one to skimp on extravagant gestures, Valentina pulls a rose from where it’s woven into the bun she gathers her hair into. Another flower grows in its place as Valentina presents Violet with it.

“Welcome, love,” she purrs. “I hope we can be as close as sisters.”

The funny thing is that within a few days of their acquaintance, Valentina really does grow fond of Violet. Katya begins to count how often, over the course of a day, Valentina will take the time to sigh about her poor, wounded Violet. She must have been so ill used by those _horrid_ royals, to be forced to flee into the woods! The trials she must have suffered, and so gracefully too! Why, it must have been so traumatic that Violet can’t bring herself to speak of it.

Things start off on a shakier note with Ginger. Always a girl of robust health, Violet recovers her strength quickly, and begins to get restless. At first, she buzzes around Katya during the days while she kills time, asking if she can be of any assistance.

“I feel bad for having taken over your bedroom,” she says. “It would please me to make your life a little easier.”

Katya insists that sleeping on the sofa is no trouble for her. She is a smaller person than Violet, and fits more comfortably there than she would. She needs no help with resting, at least none that she can reasonably ask of a virtual stranger. Violet gamely provides her with conversation to fill her dull moments, when Valentina hasn’t approached her for her opinion on the floral arrangements or garden concepts she’s been consumed by as she waits for a new commission.

Since she cannot help her, Katya suggests to Violet that she speak to Ginger if she’d like to be assigned a job. If anyone would know what needs to be done around the house, it would be her.

Later on in the week, Ginger brings some colour into their lab time in the form of incredulous rants about Violet’s homemaking skills.

“It was like she’d never seen a broom in her life,” she grumbles. “I had to clarify what it meant to dust the windowsills, and every other basic task required to keep a house clean. Whose daughter _is_ she?”

“Oh, Ginger! Pray, be kind to our dear Violet,” cries Valentina, now comfortable in her role as Violet’s greatest champion. “You know we can always use spells to do all this. Maybe we can find something that suits her abilities better, like sewing. Every accomplished, aristocratic girl has some skill with the needle.”

“She wanted to be useful,” says Ginger. “There’s not a lot of sewing that needs to be done, and we can’t have her stumbling about in the lab where we keep our most volatile substances. We’d be in a fix if she broke a vial, and monkwood is out of season so it would be a disaster if she somehow spoiled our supply. I thought it was within the average girl’s capacity to sweep a floor. How silly of me to misunderstand what an arduous task that could be!”

“How silly of you to assume Violet is an _average_ girl!”

“Weren’t you accusing her of theft not long ago, Valentina? And I told you not to go barefoot inside if you can’t help but trail dirt everywhere. Honestly, everyone in this house lives to try my patience…”

“She picked it up quickly enough when I helped her,” Katya pipes up. “She’s smart.”

She makes no mention of Violet’s foul mood, and her mutterings about how she’d show “that horrid toad of a woman” not to underestimate her as she set about doing the cleaning. She also tried her hand at baking bread with instructions Katya had produced for her, but the result was not fit for any creature to consume, so it was disposed of. Violet has now decided that baking the perfect loaf of bread is her life’s goal, and as God is her witness she will dedicate the next couple of days to mastering it. Katya talked her out of trying again that day, so the smoke would have time to clear before Ginger got home.

Ginger stops arguing with Valentina about how being “too close to Earth” due to her gifts doesn’t mean she can’t put on a damn pair of slippers, to consider Katya’s remarks.

“I suppose she did well enough in the end,” she mumbles.

Over time, they grow more accustomed to each other; Ginger has to admit she’s proud when Violet finally masters the art of bread baking. She also likes having someone else in the house who concerns herself over its upkeep. When it becomes her job to do so, Violet takes her household chores very seriously, and soon Ginger trusts her enough to let her inside the lab. She learns the order Ginger likes to see the ingredients in, and having her around encourages Katya to get to her work earlier in the day. When Violet wants to rest from her duties, she can be the company Katya likes to have while she fills her orders.

“I do like that there’s someone around to supervise you when I’m gone,” Ginger says to Katya in confidence, though it appears to pain her.

With Valentina itching for work, and Ginger spending the better part of her days out in the village, Violet relies as much on Katya for friendly conversation as Katya does on her. When Valentina departs to help a faraway aristocrat with improvements on his grounds, it leaves the two of them with even more time to enjoy each other’s company.

Katya learns that Violet’s favourite treat is sweet buns with apple filling, that she dearly misses her horse, that her understanding of the world beyond the bubble she grew up is almost as limited as Katya’s grasp of what contemporary life is like outside the cottage, but that she has an earnest interest in correcting this deficiency. She is not averse to learning that her knowledge is incomplete, but detests being told of it unless great pains are taken to protect her pride while she’s being corrected. Pridefulness is most likely her greatest fault, but there’s something attractive about how confidently she holds herself up. She learns to bake pies, and demands Katya’s immediate opinion every time she pulls a fresh one out of the oven. When she laughs, she doesn’t care that she appears unrefined in her amusement, as if anyone seeing her like that ought to be glad they caused such a favourable reaction.

Katya likes making her laugh. She finds that she loves watching Violet flutter about, putting everything into order. There’s a gracefulness to her movement that follows her in everything she does. Katya often watches her in wonder, thinking there might not be another being so perfectly poised.

They keep to the same areas in the house during the days, Katya following her as she does her chores, and then letting Violet pull up a chair so she can watch her work in the lab if she’s inspired to do so before Ginger gets home. They don’t rise at the same time, but Katya is usually greeted with some tea and a light breakfast when she comes back from her stretches.

Katya suggests that Violet take over Valentina’s small work desk if she wants to draw, but Violet seems to prefer being as close to Katya as possible, so she makes an effort to clear a small space for Violet to use next to her. Sometimes she procures some needlework to occupy herself, but more often than that she’s content to watch in fascination as Katya works on her cures.

“What’s that one for?” she’ll say, if the process is not already familiar enough for her to guess. Violet has, rather impressively, learned to recognize the burn soothing salve, the anti-chill spell, and the unfortunately popular tonic that helps boost the constitution enough to stand a day’s work while otherwise unwell.

She’s taken to inching her seat closer to Katya by the day, so she doesn’t need to speak loudly to be heard. When she’s at work, Katya doesn’t mind so long as she moves away if she’s working on something tricky. Lately, though, Katya’s opted instead to save any tricky substances for later, when Ginger is on hand to help if she’s covered in something she shouldn’t be. It’s safer that way.

“This is meant to prevent smallpox,” Katya replies. “I make it in large batches, so the doctor can have some on hand if need be, but there are some families who request it directly from Ginger.”

“That should come in useful,” Violet says. “Most of my grandfather’s generation died that way, around the same time too. It’s a pity we ro— my family sees relying on witches’ magic as lowborn behaviour. Then we complain about how fate is blind to our needs for a clean succession.”

Katya hums in acknowledgement, though she’s not quite sure how to respond. She focuses on stirring her brew three times, counter-clockwise, and watching as it turns blue. Then, she sprinkles some of the mixture she’d pounded together shortly before Violet last spoke into the cauldron.

“We must sound like the most awful people to you,” Violet says, softly.

Katya shakes her head.

“There’s no helping how your family feels about us,” she says. “As long as _you_ like us, I’m happy.”

Violet smiles.

“Do you have a family somewhere?”

Katya shrugs.

“Maybe,” she says.

All she knows is that she was abandoned, that her upbringing was an act of charity done to her by strangers, and that if there is anyone out there who shares her blood, they have either been unwilling or unable to seek her out. It was easy for her to accept the Song of Light when it provided her with one of the few comforts she had as a child. Magic might as well be her mother, having raised her and shaped her character like her guardians ought to have done.

“I guess this is your family, then,” says Violet, placing a gentle hand on Katya’s free one.

It strikes Katya how seamlessly Violet has found a place for herself in her life.

Jinkx returns one afternoon to find Violet making preparations for dinner.

“Oh,” she says, without a hint of surprise at the new face. “You’ve arrived.”

She then approaches a bemused Violet and kisses her full on the lips.

“It’s not much,” says Jinkx, when Violet splutters a demand for an explanation. “Frankly, I’m not really skilled at anything other than divination. But it should help, when the time comes. Something’s better than nothing, I always say.”

She yawns.

“I’m exhausted,” she says, smiling serenely. “See you later.”

It’s left to Katya to try and piece together what that was all about. She takes her to her bedroom —which might as well be Violet’s now— and opens up her purple diagnostic flask to see what sort of spell Jinkx had laid on her.

“It’s a protection spell,” she says. “She must have seen something in your future that you’ll need protecting against. There’s no telling what or when that’ll be, since Jinkx has probably gone to sleep by now. We won’t be seeing her for a while.”

“Why would she kiss me, though?”

Katya studies Violet for a moment. A curl has fallen out of her kerchief, and Katya can’t help but to tuck it back in for her. Her fingers ghost over her smooth, porcelain face.

“I don’t know,” she says, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Jinkx is hard to explain.”

Katya doesn’t tell her that she thinks it would be nice to kiss her.

***

“I think there’s room enough for both of us in your bed,” Violet says.

On nights where sleep evades her, Violet has occasionally had to creep out of her bedroom to refill her water jug. Her eye is always drawn to Katya, curled up on the sofa, usually shivering a little because the thin blanket she uses has slipped off halfway and she won’t leave a fire on to sleep. She always pulls the blanket back up so she’s fully covered again.

Winter is coming, and Violet thinks it would be best for Katya to have a warmer night’s sleep.

Katya stares at her, slack jawed.

“But then where would you sleep?”

Violet makes a vain attempt to prevent a chortle from escaping her.

“I said there’s room for _both_ of us, Katya,” she says. The sound of her voice makes her think of the governess she had when she was very small, who would often sneak sweets for her when she wasn’t supposed to have them.

Katya stares blankly back.

“I know I might seem like someone who has never had to share a single thing in her life,” Violet says. “Truthfully, I really have never been forced to share anything, let alone a bed. But I don’t see the harm in it. There aren’t many people around to disapprove, and we could… make believe that we’re sisters.”

Katya decides not to protest after that. Violet thinks she hears her mutter about how they’re _all_ sisters in the house. She then gets into one of those bashful moods she seems to be struck with often these days, where she’ll turn her gaze away from Violet and recedes into her thoughts for an indeterminate period of time.

When the shock of seeing a woman in breeches wore off, and when she’d had sufficient time to process the scene back in the woods, Violet started to see how well they suited her, how they draw attention to the shape of her legs in a flattering way. She’s always been drawn to powerful women, to those who are not afraid to be unconventional and a little bit scandalous. There’s a painting in an oft forgotten spot in the palace of a warrior woman riding astride, her sword raised to the heavens. Violet used to go out of her way to look at it when she had a moment to herself. She thought of that woman when her mind drifted during especially tedious lessons, of what it might be like to know someone like her.

The thought of it thrilled her, in a way that bid her to keep her interest to herself. Every time she caught wind of a woman insisting on her own way, living how she pleased and asserting her will, she tried to remember their names. She thought of finding them when she became queen, of using her power to surround herself with women who thrill her.

Throughout her life, Violet’s social circle had been designed to limit her exposure to interesting women; her companions were all plucked from good families, and chosen for their unassuming sweetness. Although her education was modified to suit an heir to the throne, her father made it clear that he doesn’t care to see his daughter stray from the norms that govern women for as long as he lives. It’s one of the few things she resented him for before the harm he’s done to her as of late.

Sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she can see the stain of her horse’s blood on the grass. One time, she even dreamt of the same sight, but she remembers knowing that the blood she saw in her dream was her own. She’s still determined to survive, but she now allows herself to feel anger at her father for having thrown her out into the night without so much as a trial. Having chores to do and new acquaintances to make has helped her immensely, but she can’t help her emotions so she might as well feel them. There’s nothing else to do.

It does tickle her that her father’s actions have sent her right into the company of strange women, exactly the kind of unsavoury characters he endeavoured to keep her away from. She’s even learned that there was, for instance, a chance for her to cross paths with Valentina even if she was never banished from home. Valentina left an aristocratic background to dedicate her life to her magic, and she still uses her knowledge of that world to promote her landscaping work.

“I love working with the nobility,” said Valentina, one afternoon over tea and cake. “They’re so eager to part with their money, and have so much space to work with. It could be put to better use, perhaps, but it makes for a nice creative outlet.”

Violet remembers there being talk of a witch who could make roses bushes bloom year round among the nobility. It’s a major accomplishment for a witch to be noticed by a society that usually looks down on her kind.

If she’s not commissioned to do so before her exile is over, Violet might invite her to redesign the palace gardens. Dearest Valentina _did_ say it would be nice to be hired closer to home sometime. Sometimes she ventures into the surrounding area to do some of her more charitable, useful work in the local farmlands, and prepares seeds for Ginger to distribute, but it’s a dream of hers to be recognized by royals. Her ambitions are not dimmed by her being under the impression that they did Violet some type of wrong, and Violet has thought about letting her know that she has already received approval from royalty. It’s simpler, though, to exist as herself for the time being.

Violet still chafes under Ginger’s insistence in being far too blunt when she feels like she could do with criticism, but has grown to at least respect her. She admires her as much as she is vexed by her, for the general-like way with which she manages the household, and even the confidence with which she confronts her.

Other than that strange meeting with Jinkx, and a split-second vision of a figure pulling a dark hood over silver hair near the doorway, Violet has not encountered the other witches who supposedly live in the cottage. She’s excited to make their acquaintance, though the fondness in Katya’s tone when she talks about the musician, Traci or Trixabelle or something, doesn’t sit all that well with her.

Out of all of them, Katya is her favourite. Only the most severe of shocks diminishes Katya’s ability to bring light into her surroundings at all times. Being near her is like sitting by a warm fire. Violet will take any opportunity to be in her company. When they start to share a bed, she even finds that nightmares visit her less frequently.

“You’ve had nightmares?”

Katya grasps her hands, eyes wide as if Violet had confessed to an open wound she’d kept hidden from her. They’ve both tucked themselves into bed for the night, but they usually talk a little before drifting off.

Violet chuckles.

“There’s no need to worry,” she says. “I’d imagine anyone would get nightmares after they’ve experienced misfortune.”

“I could have given you something to stop them,” says Katya.

She loosens her hold on Violet’s hands, lets them drift so only their fingertips are touching. Violet presses her fingers against hers.

“When you’re ready, will you tell me what you were doing in the woods? I’ve been wondering what you’re hiding from out here.”

Violet has shut her eyes and almost made up her mind to attempt sleep when Katya whispers her question.

She’s not sure she has any reason not to be honest with her, yet she’s afraid it would seem too far fetched, especially since she’s taken so long to talk about it. Princesses don’t get thrown into the wilderness, but girls who lie habitually just might.

She knows, though, that Katya would treat her kindly no matter what she says. She would even be kind if she chooses to hold her peace.

“There’s nothing out there that will hurt you,” she says, softly. “I’m not running from a beast in the woods. No one will come trouble you on my account.”

Katya makes a soft sound.

Violet chews on her bottom lip. What _does_ she think will happen if she reveals her identity, especially to someone as sweet as Katya?

It has never mattered less that she stands to inherit the throne. But she hesitates to reveal it.

“I’m glad you’ve been having sweeter dreams, Violet.”

Feeling bold, Violet presses tenderly on the tip of Katya’s nose with her index finger before bidding her goodnight.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter had me in a chokehold for weeks. it’s finally done, and i really hope it’s not horrible. 
> 
> also want to give a belated shout out to the sacrifices arc, an epic series of hp fics that inspired some of the lore i wrote for magic, and the way some of the witches operate. valentina’s true appearance is based off of a character from that fic that i fucking hated but... liked the look of. hats off to lightningonthewave, wherever she may be.

Katya is out the door, whooping and leaping into Trixie’s arms as soon as she catches sight of her. Trixie drops what she had in her arms so that she’s ready to catch her, used to being met with her dearest friend’s enthusiasm the second she’s within distance of home.

The day before, Violet had woken up to Katya’s smiling face, and to bright chatter about how her favourite housemate would be back in the morrow. The morning had scarcely begun and it was all she could get Katya to talk about, such was her excitement. She let her indulge in it while she made something to give the returning members of the coven, to welcome them home.

Somewhere deep inside her, there was an impulse to spit in the dough of her tea cakes, but that’s not something one does to strangers. She resolved, instead, to let the famous Trixie offend her before engaging in childish behaviour. The tea cakes would also be shared with Shangela, to whom she bears no ill will, so it was best not tamper with them.

“These are absolutely divine!”

Violet smiles at Shangela, thanking her for her words. She turns back to study Trixie, who is deep in conversation with Katya.

She’s pretty. Violet has to admit it. Her features are soft, cheeks naturally pink, and her hair is the colour of sunshine. When she laughs, and she’s done so often thanks to Katya, Violet feels like the sound could very well carry over into the next kingdom and frighten the wildlife. There are little bluebirds fluttering around her, like living accessories, and though they are wholly unnecessary Violet acts impressed when Shangela points them out as her handiwork. She can feel herself go soft inside when one of them lands on the top of Katya’s head and nests there. Katya goes on, chatting and gesticulating as if she hasn’t got a small creature making a home on her head.

“She can’t feel it,” says Shangela. “It takes a lot of energy to make illusions _feel_ as real as they look, so I didn’t bother with the birds. We get so busy on the road and I work on my tricks when we have time to rest, too. That can eat up all the juice I have in me for one day.”

“Did Trixie ask you to make them?” Violet says, wondering what kind of person would request such a thing.

Shangela laughs.

“Nah,” she says. “I call her Songbird, so I made some to follow her around. I take them away when she asks.”

Violet wrinkles her nose.

“So she doesn’t like them?”

“Oh, no, I love them.”

Trixie’s dirt brown eyes lock with hers.

“It can get a little hard to concentrate on delicate tasks when there are birds chirping around my head, that’s all.”

“But it’s worth it when she sings with them. Especially when it’s just the two of us rehearsing,” Shangela says, winking at Violet.

Violet glances between the two of them silently. Trixie continues to look at her, radiating serenity. Shangela reaches for another cake.

Katya smiles benignly at the three ladies sharing the table with her. Trixie’s hand rests casually on Katya’s.

“Katya tells me you’ve been a great help,” says Trixie.

Violet musters her considerable training in composure to help her in this trial.

“It’s the least I could do for someone who saved my life.”

Katya gasps.

“Oh, Violet, you don’t owe me anything!”

This is not the first time they’ve had this discussion. Violet sighs.

“I’ve decided that I do, Katya,” she says. “And even if I didn’t, I like to be useful. It’s been a challenge, but I am not afraid of challenges.”

She looks pointedly at Trixie while she says this. The corners of Trixie’s lips twitch, like she’s suppressing a laugh.

“You’re sweet,” Trixie says.

Violet scowls.

Trixie pulls her aside, later, to ask if she’d like to use her bedroom.

“I seldom sleep in it myself, even when I’m here,” she says, with a twinkle in her eye.

 _Good Lord_ , Violet thinks. _Whose bed is she fixing to crawl into?_

Her thoughts are interrupted by Trixie’s shrieking laughter.

“Come now,” she says, punctuating her words with mirthful wheezing. “You’re not obligated to take me up on my offer if it offends you so much!”

She composes herself before continuing.

“I just thought you might be more comfortable in your own space. I was told you didn’t like depriving Katya of hers, and since I never use my bedroom I thought you might like an option that would allow both of you to keep your privacy.”

Violet tilts her head upward, to look down her nose at Trixie as she responds. The effect is spoiled a little by Trixie not being any shorter than her.

“I’m very comfortable with my current arrangement, thank you.”

Trixie dares to clap a hand on her shoulder, and turns to leave. Violet can still hear that horrible laugh as she makes her way back to join the other women, who have gathered around the fire in the living room.

When she goes to bed, she realizes she hadn’t spared a single thought to her future as a ruler, to her true circumstances and the temporary nature of her stay among the witches, for all of that day. She’d been too busy dwelling on her distaste for Trixie, looking for fault in a woman she’d only just met with far more energy than she really needed to divert towards such a task.

It’s strangely freeing.

***

Trixie joins Katya outside in the morning chill, to keep her company during her exercises as she tends to do when she’s around. She carries two steaming mugs and some bread with her. She’s near enough that her calves are right in Katya’s line of sight. Bent over backwards into a human bridge, Katya gives her an upside down grin, holding her position as she approaches.

Trixie settles down on the grass, still keeping to where Katya can see her. She raises the extra cup she’s brought out for her, and as much as it softens her heart that she was thought of, she already choked down her daily cup of tea. She’ll still drink this one, it would be rude not to when Trixie took the trouble.

“Morning!” chirps Katya.

She springs back into an upright position, takes a moment to get used to the change, and drops down next to Trixie. She stretches her legs out in front of her, blows impatiently into the cup Trixie hands her so as to cool the hot liquid faster. She’d like to be done with it fast.

It’s a shame that they’re both so specialized, that a simple cooling spell is not the first idea that pops into their heads when dealing with an everyday problem like this.

Trixie frowns when she takes a sip of her drink.

“I gave you this, didn’t I?” she asks.

Katya confirms that yes, this was the blend Trixie had picked up for her last time she was away.

“I can’t believe you’ve been drinking it,” Trixie mutters. “I would have thrown it out.”

“It’s not that bad,” Katya lies, with a shrug. She continues with more honesty. “You were thinking about me when you bought it. I appreciated that.”

“Stop being such an angel, I just might fall in love with you. That would not be good for poor Shangie.”

Katya laughs, bright and loud, but it peters out too fast to seem comfortable. Trixie’s face falls a little, and she derails by proclaiming that she will throw the ghastly tea out herself, so that Katya won’t have to. The bread is broken up and they munch on it quietly.

“I don’t think Violet likes me very much,” Trixie says. “And I find it very sweet, that she doesn’t like me. She seems very attached to you.”

One of her birds decided to take the illusion of a swim in her teacup, and Katya had been entranced by it before Trixie’s words reclaimed her attention.

Katya frowns. “Is she being difficult? She’s very proud, I can try talking to her.”

Trixie giggles.

“I have my suspicions as to why I bother her so,” she says. “And it’s honestly quite charming to see her so flustered by my presence, what with you and I being so close.”

“I really do find it strange that Violet wouldn’t like you,” Katya mutters. “I thought you’d be good friends. You’re both so determined, and have such admirable qualities. Perhaps she needs time to get used to you.”

Trixie later has a chat of her own with the proud Miss Violet, to settle the matter between them. Sitting under the sun with Katya, though, she internally sighs at how blind a person can be, especially someone as clever as Katya. Forgetting her friend’s tendency to think lower of herself than others would, it strikes her that Katya cannot notice a pretty girl having a fit of jealousy over her.

Katya does take something away from their conversation, though, even if she wouldn’t flatter herself by thinking Violet could like her enough to wind up in such a state. Violet worries Katya almost as much as she makes her life easier with her company. Ever since she revealed her propensity for nightmares after having suffered them without complaint for weeks on end, Katya has worried that she might be hiding more troubles from her. It bothers her that there might be something troubling her, something she could help her with that she simply doesn’t trust her enough to share. She wishes they were closer, so that Violet could be more comfortable with letting her in.

Katya knows Violet’s secrets are hers to keep for as long as she sees fit, but she’s been greatly preoccupied with finding them out. Violet said that harbouring her posed no danger to any of them, but when Katya asked her about her past she wasn’t worried about something coming out of the woods to hurt them. The coven can protect itself. Valentina had seen to it that the forest itself would shield them from harm.

What concerns her is Violet’s safety. Ever since Jinkx put that protection spell on her, Katya has been afraid that something would come to find her, something hostile. If Violet _wanted_ to leave, to go back to the palace so she could shine brighter than any of the other ladies there barring the princess, Katya would have to accept it. But she can’t bear the thought of having her come to harm, not under her watch.

She doesn’t trouble Violet with her thoughts. Asking her directly didn’t work, after all, and pressing on might simply vex her. Whatever mood Trixie detected in her seems to lift, and since Katya has never thought of Violet as an especially cheery young woman, it’s easy for her to assume that it had been just that, a mood. Still, she dusts off the house grimmoire to brush up on her transfiguration skills, so she can transform a pine cone into a small gift for Violet, to show she cares for her. The delight with which Violet accepts the little trinket she comes up with is priceless.

***

Every year in late autumn something rare and wonderful happens: all the witches of the cottage manage to be home at the same time. It’s a purposeful effort each of them makes to be together, and it happens at least twice a year. Because Trixie and Shangela like to be away through the winter, and Valentina goes into a non-negotiable deep sleep that cuts into the Winter Solstice celebrations anyway, family gatherings are best done prior to that.

Katya makes sure to steal a moment with Jinkx on the night of their last family dinner. It’s better to let Seers sleep as much as they need, but Jinkx had stipulated from the beginning that she would be very cross if she was not woken for their big family gatherings. It doesn’t hurt her to join them, but she is often in such a drowsy state that getting a coherent word out of her is difficult. As there’s no telling when she will be fully alert, Katya chooses to take her chances with her then anyway.

Max flickers in and out of sight next to her when she finds her, and Katya makes sure to acknowledge her presence before diving into it with Jinkx. Predictably, she doesn’t have to expend much effort into raising her subject of interest. After the customary greetings, Jinkx does the work for her in her own queer way.

“I know my methods were a little unorthodox,” she says, just as Katya sits down next to her. “But I hope that when the time comes, you can see my actions as a useful hint.”

Patience is essential when talking to Jinkx, everyone near and dear to her knows that by now. Katya went into this conversation knowing that she’d have to pry, and that it may still be in vain. Knowing all of this, she still finds it frustrating that her friend is like this.

“Are you able to tell me why?”

Jinkx shakes her head.

“I can tell you that what I did will not protect her from danger, not entirely. If you look into your heart, though, you will be able to make up for it. That’s the key.”

Katya groans in response as Jinkx lets out a yawn, muttering about the amount of cider she’s consumed, knowing full well how little it does for her ability to stay awake. She _always_ has too much.

Katya wishes the cider would loosen her tongue a little more, but it doesn’t. Jinkx only gives her a cryptic remark about purple being a royal colour.

“Isn’t that something?”

Meanwhile, Violet sits with Valentina, enjoying drinks and conversation.

When she removes her glamour, Valentina looks so different that it startles Violet the first time she sees it. Her skin looks paper thin, vines criss-crossing underneath. There are little flowers along her arms, but they have all closed up for the winter and are retreating back into her skin. She says that each blossom represents a garden she has designed. She appears to be as much a plant as she is human, and the dull tiredness that plagues her from the moment the natural world begins to prepare for bed is too much for her to pretend otherwise.

“I shall go to sleep soon,” she says to Violet, with more gravitas than necessary. “I hope that you will still be with us in the spring. I shall miss you terribly if I wake up and see that you’ve left us.”

“Oh, I assure you I wouldn’t go anywhere without saying goodbye to you,” Violet responds. “I shouldn’t mind staying forever, to be frank.”

Valentina hums, to show she heard without having to exert herself too much.

“I heard something that might interest you,” Valentina says, with a yawn. “About the palace.”

“Oh?”

Violet listens intently as Valentina shares her intelligence, which she acquired from her latest client, who heard it from his wife, whose niece was, apparently, one of the crown princess’ ladies in waiting. Apparently, the princess’ ladies were sent home abruptly some months ago, and have yet to receive an invitation back to their post.

“The princess wasn’t exactly close to any of them,” Valentina says. “So, for a while, they figured they’d been replaced out of caprice. But, as you know, the aristocracy is such a small segment of society that they would have caught wind of new ladies being selected. And that hasn’t happened.”

“How queer,” Violet says. She doesn’t bother feigning surprise. The advantage of being fairly inexpressive on a regular basis is that there’s no need for theatrics in situations like this.

“What do you think happened?”

There’s a sudden alertness in Valentina’s eyes, though her posture remains every bit at rest.

Violet meets her gaze, placidly.

“Perhaps they want her to be forgotten,” she says, simply. “There’s no telling how the royals think. I know that much.”

***

Winter comes to the woods. Trixie and Shangela are gone as suddenly as they came, off to chase the sunshine. Violet, Katya, and Ginger once again constitute the most visible activity in the household. The greatest change that takes place is the coming of snow, which they first combat by hanging lights wherever they can, and then by other, livelier means.

Since the first snowfall, Katya has taken to wrapping herself and Violet up in warming charms, so she can march them both outside. She insists that taking the time to play in the snow like children is very important for their health and happiness in the darker months. Violet pretends to be angry about being forced to leave the house and instigates a snowball fight to pay her back. This does nothing to discourage Katya from dragging her out at least once a day, and it’s so much fun that Violet has a newfound love for the outdoors in winter.

January marks the seventh month since Violet started living among the witches, and Katya celebrates it by presenting her with a gift.

“Seven months is a very long time,” Katya says, seriously, when the time comes for Violet to receive it.

“I should think so,” Violet responds with equal solemnity, though she has to stifle a giggle.

Katya had interrupted her sweeping the kitchen to give her present, and subsequently demands that she close her eyes so she can be led to it. She takes her hand, so that she doesn’t trip.

When Violet opens her eyes, it takes her a moment to realize what she’s looking at. Katya had led her to the mantlepiece, where the candles are lined up. She can’t see what Katya was so excited to show her until she notices a new tealight, with her name painted onto the holder.

“That—That’s mine?” she gasps.

Katya nods, sporting a big smile. “Surprise!”

Violet watches her own little green flame, burning right next to the others and just as brightly.

“You’ve been here so long,” Katya says, softly. “And you’re so much a part of things around here, I thought it would be appropriate. Of course if you feel like it’s too presumptuous to imply that—“

Violet has no fancy words to express how happy she is, so she wraps Katya up in a hug.

“Thank you,” she says. She kisses the top of Katya’s head, because her lips are level with her temple. As she squeezes her close, Katya naturally ends up tucked into the crook of her neck.

“It’s perfect.”

Katya grows a little stiff in her arms, Violet lets her go. For some reason, Katya lingers by the mantlepiece for a moment after Violet leaves her, but she gets back to her sweeping with a little extra warmth in her.

Violet needs all the warmth she can get. She loathes to admit it, but Valentina’s palace gossip affected her. She knows how her father thinks; she’s studied the man all her life. He’s not refusing to make a statement about her whereabouts because he doesn’t love her, it’s a way to cover his bases for when she might need to make a sudden reappearance. It’s easier to imagine a recluse, no matter how unlikely a candidate for such a lifestyle, to suddenly emerge from seclusion than a dead girl rising from the grave. Knowing this should be enough to soothe her feelings.

Just because her father’s actions are not motivated from lack of love, though, does not mean he cares for her after all. It makes her feel like a child, to think about her parents not loving her and letting it get to her the way she has. It’s silly, but it stings.

Katya has no way of knowing how much having her own tealight means to Violet. She doesn’t want to go into it with her, though. If the palace wants to let her memory rot away, she’s compelled to do the same right back. If her exile lasts until the rest of her days, she will die with her secrets. No one around her has any need for them.

An incident occurs on a winter’s day, after Violet and Katya are done pelting each other with snowballs.

Katya decides that she wanted to make the cocoa that day, so Violet, left without her usual occupation, makes her way back to the bedroom to lie down for a moment. Something about the cold makes her feel like a lazy cat, and if she’s faced with an idle second she prefers to spend it with her feet propped up somewhere.

You must understand that to a girl as inexperienced in the ways of the natural world as Violet, what happens then would be unprecedented.

Lying back on the bed, she thinks about the way Katya’s cheeks got all rosy in the cold, her bright smile no match for the sun shining on the snow. She thinks about how she lays right in that bed with her at night, and of waking up with their foreheads almost touching some mornings. She doesn’t notice one of her hands wandering down the length of her front and pressing down, where her thoughts and the pressure mingle to create a sensation that has her starting bolt upright.

“Oh,” she breathes.

She manages to pull herself together before Katya calls her out for the cocoa, but when she emerges she’s so red in the face that Katya touches her forehead with the back of her hand, thinking she might be feverish. It makes her shiver.

Blissfully unaware, Katya won’t share her own experience of lying next to Violet at night with eyes wide open, breathing in and out, in and out, so that she might calm her own impertinent mind. She’s lying _right beside her_ after all, she can’t go about making a scene. Violet is a deep sleeper, which makes it difficult if she has a scary dream Katya can’t snap her out of easily, but she still won’t risk taking her pleasure and waking her in the process.

With the easy manner in which they while the days away together, they appear to be the most intimate of friends. Inside, though, both of them feel a tantalizing distance that needs to be bridged. Yet the impulse is not enough to dispel the fear of the unknown, of the possibility that sharing their thoughts will damage the comfortable friendship they fell into so easily.

Ginger can barely spend five minutes in a room where she has to watch them exchange longing glances so secret, they don’t seem to realize they’re sending them. It’s so maddening, she now tends to retire to a private room, shouting as she goes about how the two of them are driving her up the goddamn wall.

***

They’re on the cusp of spring, but only just. Katya heads to the village with Ginger for one of her bi-monthly consultations. Violet brushes stray curls away from her face as they say their goodbyes. Ginger sighs deeply as their cheeks go pink and they refuse to catch on to their own affairs.

When Katya and Ginger have ventured so deep into the trees that she can no longer see them, Violet lingers at the doorway, breathing in the fresh morning air. She nips back inside for a moment, until she decides she’s feeling like going outside to start her day off after all. The house feels too empty without Katya.

There’s a circle in the ground where the grass is green, surrounding the cottage. Outside of it, the grass is a lot less brilliant. Violet stays on the green, weighing her options for outdoor recreation. For a while, she circles the cottage, struck by the idea to ask Valentina for a small plot where she can grow something. She keeps stealing glances at the trees surrounding her, though. She’s never really been told not to venture out into the woods, but something about the green feels safe, as if stepping away from it would invite danger.

What, though, could possibly be out to harm her now? She has no quarrel with the woods, nor any of its creatures.

She’s considering the risks of a walk in the trees when she notices a stranger approaching. As he comes nearer, she realizes he’s not a stranger at all.

“Papa?”

He stops a few steps from the edge of the green. Violet bridges the distance, confirming with her own eyes that she truly is standing before her father. Out of habit, she bows in respect of his presence.

“Come here, child,” he says, when she meets his eye.

Violet walks over the edge of the green and into her father’s arms. Her stomach is in knots as he leads her to a shaded area, and lays down his coat so she can sit on it. He’d produced a small bundle from his pocket before laying the coat down, and he presses that into her hands.

“It’s your favourite,” he says.

Violet nods as she accepts it, thanking him for his kindness. She glances back at the cottage. Perhaps she’s dreaming, and if she blinks with enough force she will rise from wherever she dozed off. When she tries it, she finds that she’s still sitting with her father, so she must assume that he is real.

“You look well,” the king says.

Violet studies him. He looks like he has aged since she last saw him, like he’s grown weary of some great trial. There’s a noticeable tension to his manners.

“You look well, too,” she says.

They don’t speak for a moment. It was never easy for Violet to hold casual conversation with her father, and she’s so bewildered by having him near her now that it only makes it harder.

“Has mother forgiven me?”

Violet meets her father’s gaze and holds it as she asks. She doesn’t care that he flinches a little. There’s a thrill in her gut when she finds herself thinking that if he were a truly strong king, he would never be thus affected by his own successor’s glare.

He sighs.

“No,” he says. “But she is well.”

Violet stiffly tells him how glad she is to hear that. He responds by gesturing to her bundle.

“You haven’t touched your sweet bun,” he remarks. “Have you lost your taste for them?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I’m not in the mood to eat right now.”

Wanting to cut to the heart of his visit, she draws a deep breath.

“Why have you come, if not to bring me back?”

“Is it so unusual for a father to want to see his daughter?” he replies, affronted. She does not dignify that with an answer. He should know he doesn’t get to come to her and say that, not now.

“To tell you the truth,” he continues. “I did want to see how you were getting on. And I have glad tidings to share as well. Our family is to increase in size very shortly.”

Violet struggles to process his words, as he draws himself up the way he taught her to do if she wants to trick herself into feeling powerful.

“We are certain your mother is giving us a prince.”

A prince.

Violet has always known that if she ever had a little brother, he would automatically replace her as heir to the throne. She feels something loosening inside of her, and then floating away.

“Oh,” she says. “How glad you must be.”

He nods.

“I’m relieved,” Violet continues. “Truthfully, I’ve been very happy here. If mother never wants to see my face again, I should gladly stay hidden away in the woods forever. Especially now that the kingdom won’t need me after all.”

She watches him carefully for a reaction. It’s oddly unsatisfying to watch him just stare back, as if he hasn’t got the words to respond to her.

His eyes are just like hers. She’s never really noticed that before. It doesn’t make her feel any particular way to realize it. She just wants him to dignify her words with a response, or an excuse for his swift departure.

“Well, then,” Violet says, after an unbearably long silence. “I’ve received your message, and your gift.”

Turning his head away, the king once again admonishes Violet for not taking so much of a bite out of her bread.

“The cook was surprised when I asked him to prepare it,” he says.

“I suppose he was wondering who it was intended for,” she responds. “If I recall correctly, I was the only one who ever wanted to eat this, and the servants haven’t seen or heard from me in months. I can’t imagine you’ve told them anything about my whereabouts. You always said that if I ever did something that might be considered distasteful as queen, it would be my prerogative as a monarch to carry on without justifying my actions.”

Her father blanches at her words, and Violet thinks that’s quite decent of him to do.

“Violet,” he says. “I simply cannot leave until you’ve had a bite.”

“If I do so, will you leave?”

He opens his mouth as if to scold her, for being too direct. If he had, she might not have been able to stop herself from shouting at him. Instead, he shuts his mouth and nods his assent.

Knowing what it takes to be rid of him, she unwraps the bun and takes a careful bite. She watches him as she chews and swallows, priming herself to say her goodbyes.

She hardly has time to be surprised when everything goes dark. Inside, her flame begins to burn black.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on tumblr: [@fannyatrollop](http://fannyatrollop.tumblr.com/)


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